Homework this week:
We are jumping forward in game a month’s time. Tell me what your character has been doing during the last month. What is their immediate goal after this time off? Post this on Obsidian Portal!
Jethreu falls to the ground covered in sweat. His bones ached. And now the familiar feelings of guilt, anger, and sadness flooded not just his mind but his body as well. Tee extension of himself had been dismissed and that left him vulnerable in more ways than one.
The month since he had awakened was increasingly harsh. Used to a comfortable life style, being hit with fireballs on a daily basis was almost the opposite end of the spectrum. His mind was reeling for the dismissal spell his mentor had cast. He lasted through 5 casting this time. But he was worn out on the 6th try and he wasn’t able to hold on any longer.
“Very good. Now summon it again.”
“I can’t. I”m too tired to feel anything right now."
“Well then I guess you’ll just be a pile of ashes in a minute then.” The old man wasn’t joking, he began invoking what looked to be a powerful fire based spell.
“Damn, I’m really going to die now. And I don’t care.”
“WHAT! How dare you not care about yourself.”, his eidolon’s voice screamed into his brain.
“After all the the crap you’ve been put through this will be our end? I don’t think so. You survived your 5 day hangover. You’re the first D’llen mage in 10 generations. You’ve got that party tonight. AAAND you’ve got people to protect.”
“It’s too late though, it takes a full minute to summon our true strength, and that spell only takes half that time to cast. It’s going to be cast at me in a few seconds now.”
“Then cast one of your own”
The mentor fires his spell off and Jethreu instinctively casts his own. The smoke takes a second to clear and when it does, Jethreu stands, suspended in mid air inside his living armor.
His mentor just smiles and says “Well looks like you’ve passed stage 1 then. Only took you a whole month, party-boy”
That last comment stuck him the rest of the day. “It’s true, I did party for an entire week. But how could I not? The family has never been so happy. Even got that letter from…no musn’t even think of that. Maria couldn’t come but we did have some good times after.”
Jeth takes a moment to reflect on how long its been since he had seen Maria. It was before this week of intensive tests. After he had seen the group at the Cracking Whip. “I know she’ll be there, but I wonder if any of the others will show up. Its only a few days away. And we still have to figure out how we’re going to funnel the money out this time around. OH well, I”m sure gramps will come up with something again. He never misses an opportunity to sway some more people to our side."
((Posted this on Iskanda’s page, too, but here it is for easy access.))
After capturing the four terrorists who had bombed the public debate, Iskanda insisted that all must be turned over to the Anvilmen. Others disagreed, and she attempted a compromise by splitting the terrorists into pairs; she took her pair to the Anvilmen.
Upon discussing her activities with High Presbyter Aldric, the Church of Her Lady Justice bestowed upon Iskanda the Brooch of St. Augustine Prouleaux, slayer of Lasz’Ahjit, Devourer of Innocence. She began wearing it proudly, but didn’t let the glory get to her head; she continued working at the church, and even shied away from the public for her first week or so back from the Spires, in an attempt to avoid too much attention. However, Alix Morren came to her out of concern for Vivian, a courtier from the Silk District, who had recently disappeared, and that was enough to push Iskanda out from hiding. She has used some of her free time to search for clues regarding the woman, but thus far has only encountered questionable leads and dead ends. Although she encouraged Alix to remain optimistic, Iskanda had difficulty doing so herself.
Now officially an Anvilman, Iskanda began to spend more time at the docks, luring in new friends with tales of her foreign travels, vague as they might be. That added to her contact with Roland, and within their circles rumors had spread about a renewed relationship.
Some of her funds from turning in the terrorists had gone to the church, which drastically improved its appearance. Cracked tiles were replaced, new flowers and shrubs were planted in the garden, and the flame of the holy brazier burned brighter than ever – or at least in recent memory.
Iskanda also realized that her newfound fame was an excellent resource for spreading the holy word of Her Lady Justice. She has spoken to many people about her religion, and has been somewhat successful in increasing the church’s popularity. She has also been pleasantly surprised at the curiosity held for her origins in Ordahl, and has attempted to dispell negative beliefs about it and the outside world in general. Her efforts, however, have not come unchallenged; Severine Devers continues to refer to Iskanda as a dirty foreign whelp, and she’s received sneers and unkind words from like-minded Bastigians.
(What I did on my summer vacation by Terth Valkir)
The first two days after handing over the terrorists were quiet for Terth. Spent in bed with the curtains drawn and a block of Ele-Ice sitting in a copper tub in the corner, melting. On the third day, as the sun crept over the far horizon, Terth pushed the drapes aside and went out to open his stall.
The day was still cool and the threat of dew hung in the air as he walked to the Silk district. Already the sounds of the bustling squares began to drift down the winding roads and alleys and Terth hurried his pace. He turned the corner into the square where he worked to find someone already milling around his stall.
“Hello sir, may I help you?”
Ten hours later Terth collapsed onto the table of his stall as the last customer of the day walked off.
There had been new Anvilmen contacts to meet.
And then there were regulars to help and placate.
And all that between rubber-neckers trying to get a glimpse of the “humble merchant” and asking for advice.
“Gods I’m going to need to get some help.”
On the advice of Iskanda, he reached out to some youths from her church, inviting them to apprentice under him. Running the stalls and managing inventory while he handles customers. He contracted a crew of Anvilmen to improve and expand the stall. As the festival of the Blood and Rose approached the amount of business Terth was doing had almost doubled. No longer just silks and fabrics, but exotic wines and whiskies passed over his counter.
An increased profile means an easier target though. Old customers now spit in his direction as they pass to do business with his rival. Phrases like “up-jumped” and “savage” float around behind his back. Half-earnest accusations of treason reach his ears. ‘No true Bastigian would fail to turn terrorists over to the proper authorities.’ Circles and bags begin to form under his eys. Sleep always seems to come too late and dawn too soon. And now Terth is always seen leaving home with cane in hand.